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" "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. We tolerate you for your genius, that's a fact. But he has never been near her—never. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. "In favour of my son. Sensitive, aren’t they?” She chuckled. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside.
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